


all the thread I used to tie us is coming apart

by elmshore



Series: a constant satellite of your blazing sun [6]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: (for the demo), Angst, F/M, Other, Pre-Relationship, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27958322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elmshore/pseuds/elmshore
Summary: She knew, yes, she's always known, and yet to hear him say it hurts more than she can take.
Relationships: Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles), Female Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Series: a constant satellite of your blazing sun [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970686
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	all the thread I used to tie us is coming apart

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt fill on tumblr, but I liked it enough to post it here. Also: **This contains spoilers for M's route in the updated demo. Do not read if you haven't played!**

This is always how it ends.

Each word is a sword in her chest, white-hot and searing, piercing through her with a terrible and fierce precision. Barbed vines coil tight around her heart, a clinging vice — pricking and stinging and leaving her bloody, broken. They rise, grow and tangle in her throat, settle in her aching lungs, and she cannot breathe, cannot feel anything but the pain.

She is choking on them, on her own foolishness, and she has only herself to blame. For daring to hope, to dream, to believe.

For ever thinking that anyone could love her, could want her, could be happy with her.

Cordelia has heard these words before, or an echo of them — spoken in honeyed tones, smooth and charming and warm, hidden carefully behind veiled compliments. They are not new, but the pain is just as strong, just as sharp.

Hands fumble for her belongings — nearly knocks over her half-finished drink, fingers trembling — and she is shaking, body numb, foreign. “I have to go,” she manages, voice foreign to her own ears and nearly lost in the din of her swirling thoughts, alarm bells and sirens resounding her head. She turns, legs heavy as stone, and every inch of her screams for escape, pleads with her to get away, as far as she can.

 _Can’t stay here, can’t stay here, can’t stay here_.

A chair squeaks along the tiled floor, deafening in the quiet of the bakery, and she hurries, flees. Haley, still wide-eyed and shocked, moves, lets her pass, gives her a fleeting glance that Cordelia knows all too well.

Pity. Always pity.

She crashes through the door, bell trilling above her head, and the rush of noise from the street is almost, but not quite, enough to drown out the quiet, yet resolute _shit_ that hangs in the air behind her. It rings in her ears and haunts her steps, a shadow clinging to her heels, nipping and gnawing.

Behind her the door slams open and the faint, dull _thud_ of boots hitting the pavement reaches her, spurs her onward. 

No turning back, no stopping — she has to leave, to get away, to be _anywhere_ but here.

Tears prick at the corner of her eyes, burning reminders of her own failings, and it takes every last ounce of willpower she has, to keep them at bay. She is weak, yes, but she will not falter — not yet, not here, not like this.

Faces pass as she waves her way down the sidewalk, blurred expressions that all say the same thing.

 _Idiot, did you expect any different?_

And they are right, of course. This is her own fault, a punishment for allowing herself to get too close, too reckless.

_“That’s the only thing going on here.”_

Cordelia reels from the sound of his voice, an unwanted presence in her mind. A tidal wave of agony slams into her and she is knocked off balance, pulled out to sea, drowning. Just ahead, the station looms, but she pivots and stumbles into an alleyway, loses herself in the gloom that lingers in the tight space. 

She makes it three steps, then two more, and finally, she is done. Quaking, unsure, each breath another blade driving through her. A hand shoots out, braces against cool brick, and she crumbles, shatters. Falls, knees scraping against the ground, and she knows she will be a mess, but it hardly matters now.

Not when she is unraveling at the seams, coming apart piece by piece, and it is almost too much to bear, too much for her battered heart to handle.

The tears come all at once, liquid fire spilling down her cheeks and she clamps a hand tight over her mouth, holding back a sob that bubbles up. It presses against her lips, insistent, and she swallows it, lets it fall back down her throat, jagged as broken glass. Can taste the salt now, bitter in its flavor, and relishes it, lets it ground her, uses it as a tether.

Desperate for anything that might replace the taste of _him_. 

So very long now she has wondered what his kisses might feel like, his lips moving against her own. Has thought endlessly about what flavors might exist within him, waiting for her to discover them, and now… well, now she knows and hates herself for it. 

Hates that it is a part of her now, ingrained and interwoven into the fabric of her being. She can still taste him on her tongue — rich chocolate and clove, a hint of burning smoke, earthen and heady — and worse still, she longs for more, wants nothing but to lose herself in it, until it is all she knows. Misses the feel of his hand on her neck, fingers toying with loose strands of hair, blunt nails dragging across her flesh and she shivers, heart thundering in her chest.

Blames it on the crying, because the alternative is too shameful; that he hurts and hurts her, a vicious cycle on an endless loop, and still she wants him.

Will she ever learn?

She knew, yes, she's always known, and yet to hear him say it — 

Another sob wracks her form, tumbles out, and echoes in the air around her, bouncing off the stone walls. Sounds harsh to her own ears, primal and pathetic. 

_“That’s the only thing going on here.”_

_“You’ll never find better than me, Angel!”_

Cordelia slams her palms against her ears. Hits and hits until her head throbs, vision spinning, and she chokes, gasps for air. The voices clash and mingle, a screeching cacophony that skirts along the edges of her mind, prowling beasts ready to pounce, sensing blood in the water.

Bobby had been right, that day, and the realization is enough to make her sick.

She will never find something better than him because of course, she does not deserve better than him.

This will always be how it ends.

**Author's Note:**

> How we doing, M-mancers?
> 
> Kudos and/or comments are appreciated! I'm also on [tumblr!](https://elmshore.tumblr.com/)


End file.
